"declassified" poems
"I LOVE LOVE!" She shouted, speaking to herself in third person.
It was then that she seemed to float away
A balloon on Macy's Day.
*It seemed I was the only one orbiting earth,
watching those performances of daily life applauding
for a well-flipped omelet a superbly
fitted glove a full tank of gas at $4.00.*
I couldn't believe my luck
Terrestrially, there were husks sipping coffee
and rasping and rustling at each other
desiccated.
Privately, she was buying real estate on the moon
I LOVE LOVE! she shouted
Dancing like an egg on a spray of water
a declassified military satellite who through some dumb luck
had escaped the pull of gravity and won
Marveling at the moon rock
on her finger, even a stubbed toe just seemed
like the ideal opportunity for extorting kisses.
And it glinted in the light.
Everything was fine.
*Down on earth it seemed all the wine drinkers
were toasting to us cheering as we terra formed
the moon.* ***We couldn't believe our luck
as we rolled back our stone.***
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
You remember that cow they told us about?
The one that jumped over the moon?
Well.
It never came back.
It’s hind legs were so powerful,
it’s hooves so sturdy
that he jumped from here,
on earth,
all the way over the moon.
All the way through the asteroid belt
past Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune
and even Pluto,
that tiny little sphere of ice
those *** holes at the International Astronomical Union
declassified as a planet in 2006.
The cow died before it got there though.
Maybe because there’s no oxygen in space
though I’ll never be certain.
But his body kept on floating.
Still propelled by the force it left earth with:
a dead black and white cow
sailed out of our solar system
and into the Arm of Orion.
But the light from Rigel and Betelgeuse
chased him away.
Blue-white and red supergiants have that effect on people.
Or cows.
Even dead cows.
And so, our travelling hero, who I’ve now named Frank,
spiralled through 0-gravity
and ended up
on the other side of the Milky Way.
Cygnus. Cygnus’ Arm is what caught him.
Cygnus and Frank became good friends.
Who could imagine!?
A dead cow and swan made of stars!
How preposterous.
But eventually they spread apart
(as all friendships eventually do)
and so Frank was left without a companion
and drifted off through space once more.
And we haven’t heard from him since.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
*my interests in / with philosophy are grammatical,
" " " / " theology " linguistic.*
as philosophy did not entice grammatical words to express it,
as philosophy did not entice grammatical words to be utilised,
so thus the study of language became distinct
from philosophy, with only english or german or italian
teachers using these words as a forgivable badge of honour,
but what if a philosopher decided to "steal" these words and use
them, what then? it would be secondary, to have learned
a language in order to progress to the second tier of language
and erase colloquial truths, idiosyncratic truths, etc.,
those maxims that never really matter, but find me one philosophy
book that deals with words rather than ideas by submerging
itself in ideas and theories not of the world, not political,
metaphysical, theological... but simply grammatical... as to why
the pronouns clash when used as the universal stipend of question:
who, how, when, what if, etc. it's a minefield of considerations,
categorisation of words to only craft learned plagiarisms
of the pulpit, that such rigidity in grammatical classification
of words is so aged ashen leaky and rickety and sir sneeringly sneaky
as to be disregarded by philosophy is a gaping black gravity vortex
of travesties. how do i write you ask, with what ease
and with what machinery of split second bullet fire (sometimes)?
i simply declassified certain words, rearranged their
grammatical classification, some permanently, some impermanently;
such is this curse of the orthodox theory of language,
this ungrammatical denotative classification,
before the sun or the moon can be a subject for a poem
or some other form of inspiration, it's firstly a subject for nouns;
oh i believe in grammar, but not how it's organised
for the sole purpose of schooling, the odd jack-in-the-box popup
lightning slosh of um um ah when the teacher labours momentarily to
utilise grammatical words to explain a bewilderment without
actually explaining anything other than the classification coupling
obvious(ness) in a poem... esp. one beginning with a conjunction such as and.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
Jeffrey Epstein is gone. Suicided?
The conclusion is still undecided.
A libidinous god . . .
or a jewel for Mossad?
The tribunal is deeply divided.
Mr Epstein is gone... wonder where.
Is he dead? All conjecture is fair.
Was that him on the slab?
We all hoped we would blab;
his declassified secrets to share.
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 6:02 PM UTC
My World
Slowly descending into chaos
Churning
Like a storm at sea
Throwing overboard all
That remains
Drenching the decks
Of hope love and faith
Scarring and abounding
Without gratuition
Falling into instant remorse
Knowing the no
But always relying on selfishness
To say yes
No turning back no turning
Back to where it began
Make it stop
Heel
The tracks have gone rusty
And will derail all who cross
Those who love and loved
Over the edge
Beyond repair
It's done, its done
The world has fallen apart
My world
It has relinquished forever
No hope of repair for
Love does not forgive
Nor forget
It's time to move on
The hands are ticking, ticking
Ticking by the hours
Wishing for another
To understand the situation
To demand the same attention
Another that knows how
To tape a broken world as whole again
Shattered glass no longer the ruins
The pieces of a part
That never really belonged
That were outcast
Placeless, homeless beings
Among them
Another person
Just one
One that knows understands feels
The sailor of the churning seas
To save the wreckage
To sail back on the seas
Of blood that race through veins
Agitated by the second long process
Initiated by the beating
Stumbling
Confused matter known often
As the heart
The soul
So broken you wonder
Is it gone
With nothing left the remorse
Fades into the blackened night
Turns all beauty into concrete
To be torn up
By those passing obliviously above
Unending torture that has been declassified
No longer a form of abuse
Just another day
One more longing for freedom
And to take to the skies
To be free of regret
The time is up to be repaid, The
Time. Is. Up.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC